TAG TEAM
By
Nicola Marsh
Smashwords Edition
Published by Nicola Marsh September 2011
Copyright 2011 Nicola Marsh
Originally published in The Mammoth Book of Special Ops Romance
by Running Press 2010
Copyright Nicola Marsh 2010
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Recent titles by Nicola Marsh:
Busted in Bollywood
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TAG TEAM
The woman had balls.
Big, brass cojones according to rumour circulating the ADF, though the technical terms in Coralee Keaton’s Australian Defence Force file read “brave, brilliant, resourceful.”
Garcia Diaz—Fox to anyone who wanted to walk out of his office without a permanent limp—had witnessed her demonstrate those admirable qualities first hand.
Now she was back.
To muscle in on his operation.
Again.
“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut, pressing the pads of his thumbs into them, wishing he could obliterate the memory of this woman and what he knew about her.
It didn’t work.
Her file was embedded in his brain: Coralee Keaton—Lee if you didn’t want a Remington 870 shotgun aimed at your head—thirty-four, joined the 4th Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment (Commando) after six years Army service, and became part of the embedded Tactical Assault Group (TAG) after 9/11.
An integral part of TAG if her results were anything to go by. This, on top of her leadership in 4 RAR (Special Forces Commandos).
Was there anything the ball-breaking wonder woman couldn’t do?
A brief pounding on the door had his eyes snapping open in time to see her stride into his office, her expression a study in polite professionalism, her eyes eerily blank, as if she didn’t know him.
Intimately.
“You cut your hair,” he said, throwing his pen on the stack of monotonous paperwork in front of him, pissed at her intrusion yet glad for the distraction.
Coralee Keaton might be a pain in the ass to work with but her taut body, long legs and impressive D cup more than compensated for the grief.
“You cut your surveillance on the Ebola job.”
She slammed her palms on his desk, loomed over him. “It nearly botched the whole operation.”
“But it didn’t.”
Leaning back in his chair, he locked hands behind his head, thrust his chin up, his smug smile guaranteed to grate.
She reared back, her blue eyes frigid as the Yarra River on a winter’s day as she stared him down.
“You better not make the same mistake on the ricin job.”
He’d had enough of this crap. Balling his hands into fists, he stood so fast his chair slammed into the filing cabinet behind him.
“I don’t make mistakes, Coralee.”
He deliberately used her full first name, hoping to get a rise.
It worked.
“Then what the hell am I doing here?”
“Wasting tax payers’ money?”
Stalking around the desk, he stopped a foot in front of her, invading her personal space, daring her to make an issue of it.
With a toss of her glorious shoulder-length black bob, she met his taunting gaze head on.
“I’m the best there is.”
Jabbing his chest for good measure, she smirked. “And don’t you forget it.”
Like he ever could.
He’d tried to forget, dammit, tried with every rebellious cell in his body, but the memory of the last time they’d hooked up on a job was burned into his brain.
The Victoria Police Special Operations Group had requested the services of an expert from TAG to deal with a terrorist plot involving the Eureka Towers, Melbourne’s tallest building. He’d resented the inference from his superiors that he couldn’t deal with the case on his own, a resentment that peaked when Coralee Keaton had strutted into this very office in a tight, poppy-coloured power suit, packing a lethal smile along with her weapon.
She’d wielded her sexuality better than her Heckler & Koch MP-5 pistol and it had pissed him off more than her cocky attitude.
Resistance had been futile; and he wasn’t just talking about where the bad guys were concerned. The memory of their one incredible encounter had him hard the instant she stabbed at his chest.
Gritting his teeth against the urge to grab her, he said, “What do you know about the ricin threat?”
As he switched to business her shoulders loosened slightly, an infinitesimal movement that would’ve gone unobserved by the average person.
But his highly-honed observation skills picked up on it, along with the subtle shift in body language as she relaxed off the balls of her feet, settled back onto her heels. Good, he wanted her off guard when he gave marching orders.
“When we foiled the Ebola plot, the same group responsible threatened to release ricin within the month.” She tapped her watch. “Our time’s up. Intel suggests the attack will happen in the next twenty-four hours.”
“Any ideas where?”
He had his own sources, had an inkling, but wanted her to show him hers before he showed her his.
Childish? Hell yeah, but this woman didn’t play fair. She played to win, even if that included making him look like an incompetent jerk.
“Ricin does most damage when ingested so we think the attack will be via a supermarket food source.”
He swore. “Yeah, like we can shut down the whole damn food chain in this state.”
“It gets worse.”
He raised his hands palm up, wiggled his fingers. “Give it to me.”
For a tension-fraught second he imagined her doing exactly that, the sudden flare of heat in her eyes garnering an instant response in his groin. But the flicker died before he could analyse it as anything other than a figment of a wishful imagination and he damped his libido with a mental curse.
“Liquid ricin can contaminate water too.”
She ticked points off on her fingers. “Water storages are in danger. Milk supplies. You name it, this baby can contaminate it.”
“A friggin’ nightmare.”
He dragged a hand through his hair, a habit he’d tried to conquer and failed. Another thing that pissed him off. He hated failing. At anything.
“So what you’re telling me is if we don’t stop these psychos, we’ve got mass casualties on our hands.”
She nodded, her expression grim. “Ricin’s a potent toxin, a phytotoxalbumin protein derived from castor beans.”
He screwed up his nose, remembering his mum trying to shove spoonfuls of horrific castor oil down his throat when he had pneumonia as a kid.
“Always knew that castor oil shit was lethal.”
The corners of her mouth twitched. “Ricin’s a waste mash from producing castor oil. It’s created relatively easily and inexpensively.”
“This just gets better and better.”
She paused, gnawed on her bottom lip, a strangely vulnerable gesture, which ratcheted up his concern further.
If the bad guys had kick-ass Coralee worried, he should be worried too.
“Tell me the rest.”
As if coming to a decision, she squared her shoulders, nodded. “Ricin isn’t an ideal bioweapon but due to the fact it’s widely available and easily produced…” she shrugged, not needing to elaborate.
He understood the threat they all faced, the hairs on the back of his neck standing to attention as a shiver of foreboding crept along his spine.
“If we don’t manage to stop these bastards, what symptoms do we look for?”
Fear, potent and insidious, shimmered in her eyes before she blinked, effectively shutting down any sign of emotion.
“Fever, coughing and gastrointestinal problems are likely to be the first symptoms. Ingested, ricin causes stomach irritation, gastroenteritis, bloody diarrhoea and vomiting, followed by vascular collapse and death.”
His loud expletive didn’t elicit a reaction as she continued, “There’s no treatment or prophylaxis. The good news? If exposure isn’t fatal within 3-5 days, the victim will usually recover.”
“Ain’t that just peachy. So if you don’t bleed out your ass—” he bit down on the rest of his crassness and she frowned, “you might stand a chance?”
“The other good news? Because it’s a large protein it isn’t easily absorbed across the skin so dermal exposure isn’t a problem.”
“Meaning if you’re contaminated and I touch you, I’m safe?”
This time, he definitely didn’t imagine the flash of hunger in her greedy gaze, the hint of hope he’d actually do it.
He reached for her, trailed a fingertip down her forearm, lingered on the back of her hand before slipping underneath, tracing her pulse point in slow, languorous circles, savouring the rampant pounding which indicated she was as turned on as him.
She endured his caress for a moment before spinning away, turning her back on him.
“That’s right. Any other questions?”
Her voice, so steady and sure moments ago, held a subtle quiver in undertone that urged him to push her, to get her to admit the spark between them needed little to ignite.
“Just one.”
Propping his butt on the desk, crossing his ankles, he waited for her to turn back to face him, knowing she would, with curiosity eating away at her.
She didn’t disappoint, swivelling back to face him, but not before he’d copped a very nice eyeful of the sensational butt he remembered grabbing during their lone memorable encounter.
“Spit it out.”
“When all this is over, want to get together again?”
* * *
Lee clenched her hands, welcoming the bite of pain as her fingers dug into her palms, the faint sting from her bitten nails a distraction from the urge to plant both palms squarely in the middle of Fox’s chest and shove, hard.
The guy hadn’t changed a bit. Still insufferable, still cocky, still too damn much.
She knew he’d bait her the instant she’d landed this assignment, knew he’d taunt her with references to that one, crazy momentary lapse in reason three years ago.
She’d wiped that memory, eradicated it along with every other insane impulse she’d ever followed through with.
Hooking up with Fox had been dumb.
Rating their mind-blowing encounter as the best sex of her life was dumber.
Here, now, with him radiating that potent masculinity she responded to on a visceral level—the dumbest.
She could handle men. Good ones, bad ones, she kicked their collective asses and enjoyed it.
But there was something about Fox…something about the way he looked at her, as if he could see down to her soul. That scared her more than all the terrorists in the world.
“We need to concentrate on the assignment.”
His confident grin didn’t slip. “And later?”
Eye-balling him, she said, “I walk out of here and everyone’s happy.”
“Spoil-sport.”
He ducked forward quickly, his whisper in the vicinity of her ear catching her off guard, as much as the fact she let him get that close.
The door to his office flung open and they leaped apart like two rabid dogs doused with a hose, his expression instantly shuttered as he glared at some guy in an ill-fitting suit.
“Sorry to interrupt, boss.”
“What’s up, Forbes?”
“Intel update just in suggests threat escalating.”
Fox’s eyes narrowed. “Suggests? What the hell is that? Do we have anything definite?”
Forbes stiffened and for a second Lee could’ve sworn she glimpsed malevolence behind his guarded gaze, resentment in his thin lips.
“I’ll email the latest report through right now.”
“You do that.”
Fox’s dismissive nod would’ve annoyed the crap out of her so she could only imagine what it did for a resentful subordinate.
“Wound a bit tight?”
“Him or me?”
He dropped into his chair, swung the PC screen on his laptop into view, waving to the seat opposite.
She obliged, but only because her feet were aching from the new boots she was wearing in.
“Your lackey’s a little stressed.”
“New guy,” he said, his eyes riveted to the screen.
She admired that about him, his dedication, the ability to switch off to everything other than the task at hand.
She was the same. Except around him.
For some insane reason, he was the only guy she’d ever worked with, defence force or otherwise, who could rattle her. It bugged the hell out of her and she handled it the only way she knew how.
By busting his ass.
“You planning on sharing any of that Intel, hot shot?”
His gaze swung her way, amusement warring with concentration.
“That depends.”
“On what?”
He crooked his finger, the corners of his mouth curving into a sexy smile that jumpstarted every starving hormone in her neglected body.
He wasn’t handsome, not in the technical sense. Nose broken too many times, eyes a muddy mix of greyish hazel, jagged scar extending from the corner of his mouth to his chin. The scar should’ve detracted. Instead, it enhanced the potent ruggedness he wore like a badge of honour.
Ignoring his beckoning, she deliberately sat back, raised an eyebrow, pretending his flirtation didn’t excite her, that she didn’t give a damn about his response.
“On whether you…”
His head snapped up at the sound of a high-pitched wail, disbelief slashing a frown before he leaped from his chair, vaulted the desk and grabbed her out of the chair before she could say what the f…?
“Safe room. Now!”
The urgency underlying his deadly calm tone chilled her blood more than the threat sending them into hiding.
“What’s going on?”
“Just move!”
A burst of gunfire had them dropping to the floor and crawling commando across the office at a cracking pace.
She should’ve been scared. Instead, the crack of gunfire sent a shot of adrenalin so potent, so addictive through her, she responded by rote. She was trained for this, had faced worse than some nut infiltrating police headquarters. Her only regret? This whole thing would be over before she had a chance to kick some sicko ass.
They’d almost made it to the safe room when an eerie silence descended and Fox held up a hand, calling a halt.
Before she could blink he’d changed direction, slithering across the floor towards the window, half raising himself to take a peek while she shook her head and made a slicing action across her throat.
Yeah, like he’d listen to her, the testosterone-fuelled fool.
Shimmying on her belly, she joined him, earning a withering glare. She blew him a kiss. He frowned but couldn’t hide the gleam of admiration in those silver eyes.
So the hotshot liked a bit of sass? Like she didn’t know that already. When they’d hooked up the last time, the wordplay had been just as exciting as the foreplay. As for the sex…when she squirmed on the floor this time, it had little to do with getting closer to scope out the target and everything to do with a scorching memory that heated her cheeks. And she never blushed.
Signalling her to stay down, he slowly pushed into a half crouch, peeked over the window ledge and promptly dropped flat to his belly again, his face ashen.
She raised an eyebrow, asking a silent ‘what?’
Before he could respond, she got her answer.
“Get that useless bitch Keaton out here before we blow this slut’s brains out.”
Her right hand automatically reached for her weapon, clenching in fury. The bitch label she could handle. Calling her useless was just plain untrue and well below the belt.
“You’ve got three seconds.”
Un-holstering her weapon, she crawled towards the window, ignoring Fox’s vigorous shake of the head.
“Safe room, now!” he mouthed, as the booming, arsenic-laced voice screamed, “You want another death on your conscience, bitch? Fine.”
Her gaze darted towards the door. Three seconds wasn’t terribly long to fling it open and pop the psycho holding some poor woman hostage, and that’s without the advantage of casing the scene first.
“One.”
She edged closer to the door.
“Two.”
Her hand hovered on the knob, twisting slowly.
“Three.”
But before she could wrench the door open, two things happened simultaneously.
A gun blast roared in her ears as Fox tackled her to the ground and dragged her towards the safe room like she weighed nothing.
“You think they won’t do the same to you the second you step out there?” he hissed, bundling her into the safe room and hitting the electronic button to seal the door.
As the door clicked shut, she leapt to her feet and grabbed hold of his shirt, hauling him to within an inch of her face.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
She recognised her mistake a second too late. Having him this close, his shirt bunched in her fists, touching him, was asking for trouble.
“Saving your sweet ass.”
With a smile dripping pure sin, one hand snaked around and cupped her butt, caressing the curve before squeezing gently.
She should’ve reared back, given him a swift knee in the jewels for his trouble but the instant he stroked her, the latent heat within her exploded.
Without pausing to think or rationalise, she slammed her mouth against his.
There was nothing remotely tender about the kiss, just a hungry melding of ravenous souls feeding an unrelenting, driving urge to get lost in the moment.
Tongues duelled in a battle of wills but in this game, she didn’t care who won. Breaking the rules, gaining the upper hand, all meant nothing with his talented mouth playing havoc, stoking her inner fire, driving her wild with need.
Desperate for more, she clung to him, angled her head for better access, moaned, shocked at how fast he’d pushed her to the point of no return.
As she ground her pelvis into his, he broke the kiss, his breath ragged, his eyes unfocussed.
Mortified, she shoved him away, ran a shaky hand across her face, taking valuable seconds to compose herself.
When she was certain her voice wouldn’t shake, she schooled her face into an impassive mask, met his gaze.
“Want to tell me what’s going on?”
“You’re the one who kissed me.”
“Not that.”
She folded her arms, paced the claustrophobic space, silently cursing her lapse in judgement, her lack of concentration.
They wouldn’t be in this safe room unless the situation was serious and not knowing what the hell was going on didn’t sit well with her. And the madder she got, the more likely she’d do something stupid again; like wrap her legs around the sexy SOG commander with the power to drive her wild with a touch.
“How the hell did some lunatic breach SOG security let alone bring weapons into the joint? And who was the poor woman who got killed because of me?”
She stopped pacing, fixed him with a death glare. “And what the hell were you thinking dragging me in here to hide like a mangy dog when we should be out there busting asses?”
Sorrow wiped the smugness off his face as he ran a hand over the back of his neck. “We couldn’t have done anything to save her. There’s a team out there, six from a brief head count. The ringleader had Senior Constable Lina Bader in a headlock with a gun locked on her temple, the rest of the goons had M4A5 Carbines pointed at the other staff. Get the picture?”
Yeah, she got it.
If she’d opened the door in an attempt to save the life of that woman, she would’ve suffered the same fate.
Not that she was afraid of death. She’d faced it several times now, stared it in the evil eye, won.
But the injustice of Snr. Constable Bader dying because of her, trading her life for hers, would eat away at her for many a lonely night yet.
“What I want to know is what they want with you?”
“How the hell should I know?” she snarled, racking her brains for a clue, any clue.
He pinned her with a searching stare that would’ve had subordinates squirming. She eye-balled him back, not giving an inch, a small part of her aching for that senior constable, a larger part of her mad as hell.
“You’ve got no idea?”
Muttering a pithy curse, she swung away, glared at the steel door.
“If I made a list of every freak that had it in for me, it’d circle the Australian coastline, twice.”
“Same here.”
She heard an edge in his voice, as if he was holding something back. Slamming a useless fist against the door, wincing at the pain, she turned back to face him.
“You’re not telling me everything.”
Wariness clouded his eyes as he compressed his lips.
“Come on, Fox, spit it out. We’re in this together.”
She only just caught his muttered ‘worse luck’ as he hit a button on the key console, bringing up a plethora of screens depicting different areas of the SOG offices.
“See that?”
He jabbed a finger at the top right screen and she squinted, scrutinising the scene.
“Some suit dragging the body away.”
“Not a suit. That’s Forbes.”
Her eyes widened as realisation hit. “He’s your leak?”
Malevolence turned his eyes brittle blue. “I saw him alongside the perps. He must’ve let those bastards in.”
Fox blamed himself.
She could see it in every tense line creasing the corners of his eyes, bracketing his tight-lipped mouth, in the rigid neck muscles. And though it was none of her business, she wanted to offer him some small comfort.
Laying a hand on his forearm, she said, “It’s not your fault.”
Pain flickered in those steely slate depths before he masked it with rage, shrugged off her hand.
“Wrong. I vet all my personnel so damn right it’s my fault.”
She could’ve offered false platitudes, more trite apologies but it wouldn’t help. She’d been in a similar position on the front lines once, had a major she’d personally trained go AWOL after botching a big offensive. He got two soldiers killed in the process.
Though there hadn’t been a thing she could do at the time, she’d beaten herself up over it for months afterwards until she’d realised her own career was suffering.
Fox couldn’t change what had happened but she could help him manage the outcome.
“So what’s the plan?”
With his eyes riveted to the screens, he said, “We wait.”
Patience, as well as humility and backing off from a fight, wasn’t one of her virtues. She’d learned the hard way that it paid to be on the offensive, to have one up on your enemy before they jumped you. And while being locked away in a safe room looked like the bad guys had the upper hand right now, she intended on switching the positions real fast.
“Got a better plan?”
He tore his gaze from the screen, let it roam her body at will, a long, slow, leisurely perusal that left a tingling trail as if he’d physically touched her.
She didn’t move, didn’t flinch. She’d been trained well. But she seethed on the inside with a terrifyingly potent cocktail of lust and hormones and blinding need.
“They want you. They’re not getting you. So we wait to hear their other demands.”
“What if there aren’t any? What if I’m it?”
“Then screw them.”
She shivered at the resolute set to his jaw, glad one of them was convinced.
Hostage situations were a pain in the ass and being in the middle of one—being the prime target—annoyed the crap out of her. As if she wasn’t having a shitty enough day.
“You cold?”
She shook her head, cursing he saw her reaction.
“Scared?”
His voice dropped to a low murmur that caressed her nerve endings, smoother than silk, soothing. For a second she contemplated what it would be like to give in to the alien impulse to fling herself into his arms and blot out everything else.
“Cretins like that don’t scare me.”
She jerked her thumb at the screens, her attention snagged by the leader waving his gun around.
“You have sound on this thing?”
He shook his head. “Only if they come into my office.”
“Looks like you’re about to get your wish.”
He followed her line of vision, eyes narrowing as they watched all the perpetrators bar the leader evacuate.
“What’s he up to?” she muttered, scanning the screens to keep track of the leader’s movements as he strode across the outer office, grabbed hold of Forbes, and held the gun to his head.
“Nothing the little shit doesn’t deserve,” Fox said, jamming his hands into his pockets as he stepped closer to the screens.
“No one deserves a bullet in the brain.”
Raising an eyebrow, he darted a quick glance her way. “You’re not going soft on me, are you?”
“Hell no.”
She winced as the leader jabbed the gun barrel into Forbes’ head, the traitor stumbling, falling to his feet, before being kicked along. Straight into Fox’s office.
“They can’t hear us?” she whispered, grateful when Fox shook his head and pointed to a tiny green button.
“Only if I hit this. A way to communicate if needed.”
“The bitch in here?”
She stiffened as the leader’s booming voice filtered through the safe room’s intercom, took a slight step back despite the reinforced stainless wall separating her from a potential bullet.
Forbes nodded, his snivelling whimper eliciting disgust as Fox swore, his finger hovering over the button but refraining from stabbing it.
“Then where the hell is she, shit-head?”
Forbes jerked a shaky thumb in their direction. “S-s-safe room.”
As the leader stalked towards them, his face filling the screen, a flicker of recognition lit her conscience. She knew him, had crossed paths with him…but where?
After several useless attempts at banging against the smooth steel door, he swivelled, strode back to tower over the cowering Forbes.
“Open it.”
“I c-can’t.”
The leader smiled, a purely evil grin that raised the hackles on the back of her neck, as he levelled the muzzle against Forbes’ temple.
“I said open it.”
“Jeez,” Fox muttered, turning away before the inevitable shot came, harsh, distorted through the intercom.
“Now who’s going soft?” she said, wanting to offer him support, knowing he wouldn’t take it.
“Just can’t watch one of my SOGs cower like that. Goes against the grain, you know?”
This time, when she laid a hand on his arm, he allowed it to linger. “Yeah, I know.”
Kicking Forbes limp body, the leader turned in their direction again.
“I know you can see me, Garcia. See that?” He toed Forbes’ head, what was left of it. “Your little lackey gave me all the information I needed. I know all about you and the second rate hack team you run here.”
Swinging the gun Forbes’ way, he fired off a few more rounds into the lifeless body, which jerked like an obscene marionette. “I’m going to systematically execute every one of your people unless you hand over that bitch now!”
“Fox…”
His name hovered on her lips, a pleading whisper. For help? For advice? For salvation?
He held his hand up, not even looking at her. “I’ll handle this.”
Punching at the green talk button, he growled, “Go to hell.”
She flinched, waiting for another outburst of bullets to riddle Forbes. Instead, the leader’s ice cold grin sent a shiver of foreboding creeping along her clammy skin.
“A man of few words, Garcia. I like that.”
Without warning, he angled the gun towards the interior glass windows of the office and fired at random, shattering every one, not caring who stood beyond them. In that second she knew, no matter what they did or said, this psychopath wouldn’t give a damn.
He had his own agenda, had no value for life, believed he was god.
They were screwed.
Dropping the gun to his side, he leered at the camera. “Much like me. I prefer to let my actions speak louder than words.”
He glanced at his watch, evil grin widening. “You have exactly five minutes left to hand over the bitch before this place blows.”
To her surprise, Fox chuckled. “Amateur.”
Sidling up to him, she peered at the screen. “You know something I don’t? Or does the thought of fireworks turn you on?”
“You have no idea what turns me on.”
He swung and grabbed her so fast she didn’t have time to react. Her, with her lightning reflexes and superior evasive skills. With all her training.
“Are you nuts? We’re about to be blown to—”
“It’s a bluff.”
Fox jerked his head towards the screens without releasing his hold on her. “You think he’d be hanging around if this place was about to blow? No bloody way. He’s a redneck punk who has a grudge against you and thinks we’re stupid enough to fall for his tricks.”
“He’s killed two of your people.”
His expression sobered. “The guy’s a loose cannon. He has about five minutes before back-up uses the subterranean tunnels to storm this place.”
“And there’s absolutely no way he could have the office wired?”
Fox shook his head. “Nobody can get close to the outside perimeter. Only way he got weapons in here was through Forbes. As for explosives…”
He glanced at the screen again, at the leader pacing his office with an angry scowl. “He’s still here. Even if he had smuggled explosives in, wired this area, he wouldn’t hang around.”
It made sense but she couldn’t shake the trickle of unease prickling her skin. “We should find out who he is, what he really wants.”
“Last chance, Garcia.”
Their attention snapped back to the screen in time to see the leader head for the door. “That bitch screwed up my Ebola plans. Not a chance in hell she’s tampering with the ricin.”
“Jeez! That’s where I’ve seen him before.”
She smacked her forehead with the palm of her hand. “Ansel Aquino. Was on the fringe of the Ebola conspiracy. Nothing ever connected to him. No one talked. TAG assumed he was a bit player in the end, didn’t pay him much attention.”
“Bit player?”
Fox’s eyebrows shot heavenward, his lips compressed in an unimpressed line.
Not needing to defend herself to anyone, least of all this guy, she frowned. “Guess we both messed up, huh?”
“Point taken.” He grunted, having the grace to look sheepish. “Heads are gonna roll over this, probably mine.”
“These guys are good. Infiltration takes years of training.” She jerked her head towards the screen, at Forbes’ corpse. “They’re patient as well as crazy.”
Her earlier unease spread, roiling up from her gut, upwards and outwards, as she registered the empty room on the screen.
“You know your theory about Ansel sticking around if the place was wired to blow?”
Fox followed her line of vision, nodded. “Yeah, I know, the bastard’s gone.”
“Which means…”
“Either we’re about to meet our maker in a million pieces or back up will be here in four minutes.”
He tapped his watch, pulled a rueful face designed to make her smile. Pity she didn’t feel like laughing.
“I don’t know about you, but if these are my last four minutes on earth, I’m going to make the most of it.”
“By doing what?”
“This.”
He yanked her into his arms, crushed her mouth in a devastating kiss that caused more fallout than any potential explosion.
With her hormones instantly hotwired, she kissed him back, desperately, frantically, crazily, before the reality of the situation crashed in and she planted both palms against his rock hard chest. He didn’t budge an inch.
“Are you nuts? We can’t do this—”
“You want to spend your last few moments on earth scared witless or having the best sex of your life?”
“Cocky bastard,” she muttered, a quiver of excitement making her hands tremble, betraying her answer before she spoke.
“Am I wrong?”
He ran a fingertip across her bottom lip, not giving her a chance to speak. “As I remember from our last encounter, you’re qualified to judge.”
“Jeez, you’re a—”
He kissed away any potential protest. Any argument would’ve been a moot point anyway, as she couldn’t fault his fractured logic.
If she had a few minutes to live, she’d be doing just that—living—not counting down the seconds to sayonara.
“Stop thinking,” he murmured against her lips, tracing their contour with his tongue, nipping, nibbling, teasing her to join in the fun.
“Make me.”
He didn’t need to be asked twice, backing her up against the nearest wall, devouring her with his mouth.
His hands roamed everywhere, eager, searching, frisking her better than any border patrol guard.
“Damn you’re hot.”
He groaned as she arched into him, pressing her pelvis into his groin, wanting to torture him as much as he was torturing her.
“Right back at you,” she whispered in his ear, biting him, revelling in driving him wild as he snapped the button on her trousers, ripped the zip and tugged them down with her panties.
“You know I’d take this slow if we had the time, right?”
“Fast is good,” she bit out as his thumb zeroed in on her hot spot, circling her clitoris while his fingers delved into her wet heat, ripping a moan from deep within.
Tension coiled as he picked up tempo, her muscles taut, expectant, stiffening as the wave of unbelievable bliss built, sweeping her closer to a mindless ecstasy she craved.
“Oh yeah, Fox…now—”
Her pleasure peaked, crescendoed, as she rode the crest before crashing over the other side, spent and sated as she sagged against the wall, her hands clutching his shirt for anchorage in a world suddenly tipped on its head.
Surprised to find her eyes closed, she opened them, the sheer unbridled sexual intent in his burning gaze plucking an answering response deep within.
The orgasm had been mind-blowing. She wanted more. Heck, she wanted it all. Now.
“How many minutes we got left?”
“Long enough.”
His wicked grin notched up her anticipation as he grabbed his wallet out of his back pocket, yanked a foil packet out and fumbled with his belt buckle.
“Let me.”
She would’ve liked to tease him, to prolong the build-up but they didn’t have the luxury of time. She deftly unbuckled him, making quick work of the button and zip, the back of her knuckles grazing his erection in the process and eliciting a low moan before he clamped down on her hand.
“Two minutes and counting.”
He sheathed himself in record time, hoisted her up and braced her against the wall, and as she wrapped her legs around his waist he drove into her with a ferocity that made her gasp.
“Yeah, just like that,” she sighed, the tension building again as he slid in and out.
Harder. Faster. The delicious friction of him filling her, thrilling her, had her clamping around him, wishing she could prolong the incredible satisfaction forever.
“Come for me,” he said, a millisecond before she did, her tightly wound tension exploding in a fireball of sensation, annihilating everything but this moment, with this man.
His orgasm followed a moment later as he threw back his head, neck muscles rigid with rapture, his face twisted in a mask of sweet agony.
“That was—”
“Friggin’ amazing.”
He had an annoying habit of finishing her sentences but she’d forgive him. This time.
Allowing herself the luxury of touching him, she stroked his cheek, savouring the stubble prickling her palm, hoping she could convey her rampaging, rioting feelings with a simple caress.
If she were to die in the next minute, she’d go happy.
“Fox—”
A sudden burst of gunfire drew their attention to the screen and they grabbed their clothes, redressing in a tangle of arms and legs.
“Gunfire’s good, right?”
She hopped around on one foot, trying to shove her toes into her trouser leg. He reached out, steadied her with a helping hand, his thoughtfulness scaring her more than the intimate contact they’d just had.
“Yeah. Means the cavalry’s arrived.”
She picked up an edge of the unsaid in his reserved tone.
“Or?”
“Or there’s dissention in the psycho ranks.”
She finally fastened the snap on her trousers. “I’m vying for the first option.”
As if on cue, a SWAT team swarmed his office, looking like ravenous ants at a gourmet picnic.
“Guess this means we live to fight another day.”
Her voice held the slightest quiver, the impact of what they’d just faced, what they’d just done, finally hitting her.
Understanding gleamed in his dark gaze as it roved her face. “You okay?”
She nodded, swallowing the sudden lump in her throat. She didn’t know what unnerved her more: the incredible sex, his surprising tenderness or how close she’d come to death yet again.
“About what happened—”
“Ssh…” she placed her hand over his mouth, not wanting to hear any trite lines, any false excuses. “Heat of the moment. Lost our heads. Let’s leave it at that.”
He pressed her hand against his lips, placed a scorching kiss directly on her palm before curling her fingers over it.
“You sure you want to leave it?”
He slid an arm around her waist, tugged her closer. “We’re pretty good together.”
Damn him for being right.
Damn him for tempting her to feel. To feel anything other than the enforced emotional numbness she lived with every day.
“Garcia, you in there?”
Relieved, she jerked her head towards the console. “Duty calls.”
He searched her eyes, looking for…what? A sign that she cared? Some flicker of emotion other than passion? He’d be searching a long time. She’d learned to mask emotion from an early age, had learned the hard way it didn’t pay to show weakness.
“We’re not finished,” he murmured, brushing a soft, barely-there kiss across her lips that reached down to her soul and tweaked, hard.
“Yeah, we are.”
Inhaling a sharp breath, she jabbed at the button to open the door, marshalling her defences, slipping her take-no-prisoners bad-ass mask back in place.
Yet as she stepped through the door, Fox’s hand resting lightly in the small of her back, she knew what had occurred in the safe room had rattled her far more than any bioweapon threat she’d faced.
Fox nodded at the chief SWAT. “Place secured?”
“Yes Sir.”
“Casualties?”
“All infiltrators taken down, Sir.”
“Their leader?”
The chief nodded. “Affirmative, Sir.”
“Damn,” she muttered, a small part of her glad the world was rid of vermin like Ansel Aquino, a larger part annoyed as hell they wouldn’t get to interrogate him and discover how far-reaching this plot was.
“Good work.”
Fox slapped the SWAT chief on the back, led him away, their heads bent close as they exchanged info. Info she should be privy to, given the ricin threat.
“Fox, can I have a word?”
He held up a finger asking for a minute while she inwardly fumed. She wasn’t one of his subordinates, some lackey he could order around. Who the hell did he think he was?
Taking several calming breaths, she deliberately turned her back on him, knowing her foul mood had little to do with him and everything to do with the jumble of dangerous emotions careening out of control within her.
She should never have done him in the safe room.
As his hand landed lightly on her shoulder, he spun her around, his gaze warm. Regret tore through her like shrapnel.
Regret she’d let him get close even for a few minutes, regret she’d opened herself up to him a second time when she never, ever, went back for seconds, but most of all, regret she had to walk out the door and not look back.
“What’s up?”
Shrugging off his hand, she crossed her arms. “The ricin threat? Or have you forgotten?”
“You think what happened between us in there—” He jerked his thumb at the safe room, “made me lose focus?”
His eyes darkened to polished pewter, the scar beneath his mouth twitching. “As hot as you are, Coralee, I don’t ever lose sight of a target.”
“Don’t call me that!” she snapped, more pissed off at her blush than his use of the name she hated in all its feminine glory.
He scanned her face, his expression inscrutable. “Relax. Your mate Ansel had a mini hard-drive on him. Techies are working on it now, we should have all ricin data in a few minutes. From the prelim reports, looks like the threat is over. He ran the show, nothing happens without his say-so.”
“Good.”
She glanced at her watch, eager to get home, wash this day off her. “That means I’m not needed any more, so I’m outta here.”
“You’re wrong.”
He grabbed her hand before she could take a step. Despite her struggles to get free, he held fast. “You’re needed.”
He didn’t have to say where or when.
She read the intent in his eyes, the insatiable, irrational hunger that dragged a visceral response from deep down in her belly.
“I have to go.”
This time, when she wrenched free he released her. As she strutted to the door, he called out.
“This isn’t the end.”
Like hell.
She slammed the door: on him, on the mistakes she’d made, on any possible future with a guy who undermined her better than her past.
She could handle abuse, torture, retribution.
She couldn’t handle feeling anything for him.
Ever.
But then the door behind her creaked open and she stiffened.
“Lee?”
Determined not to break stride, she picked up the pace.
“See you at my place tonight. Eight sharp.”
A ready curse, telling Fox exactly where he could shove his cocky command, sprung to her lips.
“We owe it to ourselves.”
His low tone, the simple truth, reached deep down and tweaked her fortified heart, making her feel when she’d spent a lifetime trying to do anything but.
Feeling left her vulnerable. Feeling left her weak. And she couldn’t be either, not in her profession.
But after what they’d just been through, maybe he was right? Maybe they did owe it to themselves. What did she have to lose?
She glanced over her shoulder, her lips curved into a smug smile. “See you there. If you’re lucky.”
His triumphant grin sent a shiver of anticipation through her.
Tag, you’re it.
* * *
I hope you enjoyed TAG TEAM. If you’d like to read more of my books, they’re available from all e-book suppliers. My complete booklist is here http://www.nicolamarsh.com/books.html)
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About the author:
USA TODAY bestselling author Nicola Marsh writes flirty fiction with flair for Harlequin Romance and Riva/Presents. Her first mainstream contemporary romance, Busted in Bollywood, will be published in December 2011. She’s had 30 books published and sold over 3 million copies worldwide.
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